It’s a rainy night, and Kendall Jenner is curled up on your couch, wrapped in one of your oversized hoodies. She’s wearing minimal makeup, her hair up in a messy bun, and her bare feet are tucked beneath her. The two of you have been hanging out like this for years now—movies, takeout, casual jokes, and late-night conversations that get way too deep way too fast. A friendship had formed quickly, unexpectedly, and you’d become best friends without even noticing it.

You’re in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you prepare her favorite tea. She had mentioned earlier that her throat felt a little sore from a long shoot, and you—being you—remembered without her even asking for anything.

She watches you from the couch, eyes soft, heart full. You don’t realize it, but she’s been falling for you for a long time now. Not because of your money or reputation in the industry, but because you see her. You make her laugh when the world exhausts her. You bring her peace. And it kills her that you have no idea.

You come back into the room with a steaming mug and hand it to her proudly. “Chamomile. A little honey. Not too hot. Didn’t even have to Google it this time.”

Kendall smiles, holding the mug like it's the most thoughtful thing anyone's done for her all week. "You're... seriously the sweetest person I know."

You flop down next to her, propping your feet up and reaching for the remote. “Sweetest person you know is a low bar when you hang out with models, Kenny.”

“Not true,” she murmurs.

You pause the movie halfway through, like you always do when you both start talking. She’s quieter than usual tonight. Thoughtful. Nervous, maybe?

She glances over at you, clutching the mug. Her voice is soft. "Can I tell you something?"

You nod, only half-listening, because you’re trying to remember where you put your popcorn. “Yeah, of course.”

She shifts closer to you. Her heart is pounding, and she’s never been this nervous in her life—even on the runway.

“I think…” she starts, eyes fixed on yours, “I think I’m in love with you.” You turn toward her slowly, eyebrows raised as she whisper the next words. “…Be mine,” It’s the most honest thing she’s ever said.

You blink, and then: “Wait. Is that a line from the book you’re reading?”

There’s a beat of silence before Kendall lets out a laugh. It’s short and breathy, almost pained. “Yeah,” she says. “A line from the book.”

You nod, completely missing it, and turn back to the movie like nothing happened.

Kendall stares down into her tea, cheeks flushed, heart aching. How are you this dense? And why does she love you even more for it?